


At Your Service

by Morse_s Child (sherlockstummy)



Series: Werewolf Drabbles [2]
Category: Inspector Morse (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Gen, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 12:26:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5127569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockstummy/pseuds/Morse_s%20Child
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lewis finally manages to gain the attention of the Ghost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Your Service

The wolf wanted to come out. 

Something in the excitement of the chase really enlivened his wild nature. He wanted to run and pounce and tear at flesh. He wanted to taste fresh blood, feel the wind through his fur, the thrill of the chase! The way his heart pounded steadily against his ribcage as he ran during the hunt! It excited him.

Robbie found himself panting and whining. It sounded out of place in his human form, so he shut his mouth and settled for pacing instead, talking to himself.

“Yeh know he’ll come back here,” he was saying under his breath. “Yeh know. They always do. They come back to make sure everything’s fine before they go about their business.” He yipped, and covered his mouth with his hands. He could practically feel his tail wagging. The moon was new, barely enough light to see by. Robbie had a torch to see; human eyes aren’t as good as a wolf’s. A werewolf can see better than a human while in human form, but nothing beats the sight of the wolf.

Robbie tapped nervous fingers against the silver-plated wolfsbane chain he wore around his neck. It didn’t hurt, per se, to wear silver and wolfsbane against skin. Both were meant to prevent transformation. But in young werewolves, the wolf is the natural form. Pups crave it, and until they learn to control their urges, parts of the wolf come out.

Robbie had fairly good control, although Val often complained that Robbie would howl in his sleep. 

Robbie heard a noise, a very light step of shoes on concrete. The door of the house slid shut. Ah! He’d been brazen enough to go in the front door! Well, Robbie was ready for him, hidden in the hedges.

The whisper of leather. A figure carefully made his way over the wall. 

Robbie pounced.

The flashlight lit up bright, piercing blue eyes that were both angry and confused. Hands up in defense, not ready to fight.

Robbie dropped his hands in confusion. His mind was so muddled that he nearly barked. Though he managed to suppress that much, a more embarrassing noise came out of his mouth.

“Ghost?”

The disgruntled chief inspector freed his hands roughly, fussily brushing off his arms as if Robbie’s fingers were coated in chalk. He was grumbling; something about pups and heart attacks. Some of it was very clearly wolf dialect. Robbie caught a glimpse of a silver chain in the torchlight, hidden just below the collar of his shirt. Robbie dropped his hands automatically as the higher-ranking officer squared his shoulders and glared up at him. Robbie hadn’t noticed before; Ghost was a head shorter than he.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you call me that. Rubbish.” Chief Inspector Morse snorted, but his eyes never left the young sergeant. “Which are you?”

“Lewis, Sir.”

“Lewis.” The older man rolled the name around on his tongue as if tasting it, eyes scrutinizing Robbie. The younger man couldn’t hold the gaze any longer; he looked away.

“Hmm.” Morse laughed. “It takes a brave pup to look me in the eye for so long.” He huffed out a breath. “I need a drink. And then you need to explain yourself.”

Robbie felt a surge of confidence rush through him. “So do you, Sir!” He said authoritatively. “Why did you return to the scene of the crime?”

Morse looked Robbie up and down. “Are you set on arresting me?” His voice held a note of contempt…but also, unless Robbie was hearing wrong, a slight amusement.

“If ah’m not satisfied with yer reason, ah will.” Robbie squared his shoulders, too. Used his height to his advantage to stare the other man down.

Morse’s lips quirked upwards in a smile. “Easy, sergeant. I’ll settle things as wolves, but my human form has become delicate with age. Come. I know of a pub that’s still open, just down the road. They serve decent beer, though at the end of a barrel, it tastes vaguely of tin.”

Robbie cocked his head and followed.

 

The bar was loud and bright, even for the area. It was not the sort of place Robbie imagined the Ghost might frequent. 

Morse was rubbing with a handkerchief at his cheek. Robbie could see what he was trying to get; a bit of mud or grime or ash, something, smeared across his cheekbone. “Sir? May I?” He held his hand out for the cloth.

Morse eyed him guardedly and handed over the handkerchief, turning his head back again.

“You’ve got some…”  
“Gone?”

“Yes sir.” Robbie settled himself. “You were explaining why you were at the scene.”

“I don’t know about explaining, but I was telling you.”

“Sir, I have doubts. You had reason to be in the vicinity of Miss Stavely’s house when she died. You could’ve been having an affair with her.”

Morse snorted, pulling at his collar before doing the same to his beer. “You have doubts, have you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And are you, by some stroke of luck, going to pass these doubts on to Inspector Bell?” Morse half-laughed, sizing him up again.

“I…I think so, Sir. Yes.” Robbie couldn’t hold his gaze; he felt that every time he stared into those deep blue eyes, he was meant to look away. It was the feeling every wolf feels when the Alpha holds their eye. Wolves are conditioned by nature not to look an Alpha in the eye.

Robbie looked away.

Morse sighed. “Well. If you must, you must. Now why were you,” a pause as he dragged his beer glass across the plastic table. Robbie’s eyes stayed studiously on his knees, but he could see Morse’s free hand out of the corner of his eye. Never once had he heard about ferocity in the Ghost. He hunted with precision, the least amount of energy expended possible. He didn’t believe the Ghost could be violent. Didn’t want to believe.

If anything, he was taking this as an opportunity to show off. The voice of his wife echoed in his ears; get yourself noticed.

Oh no. Val. She’d be worried sick. He told her he was working late, but not as a wolf.

“I’ve got to go home.” Robbie stood up as if in a trance.

“As do I.” Morse said wistfully. “Will you come with me?”

Robbie shook his head. “Me wife. I’ve got to get back…”

The cloud in Morse’s eyes cleared. “Of course. Go.” He tore open the buttons at his throat.

Robbie ran all the way back to his car, the sounds of claws on pavement and a melancholy howl echoing in his ears.

 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

A successful pack night is defined as, in the simplest possible terms, all bellies full, relaxing atmosphere, pups playing under the moon.

Strange could never achieve that successful pack night, but that was what you traded for working with Morse. And Strange, unlike most people, liked Morse very much. He and Morse had grown up through the ranks together. They’d been turned around the same time by the same guv. That creates bonds in men that few things can rival. Not even marriage.

Strange left the group of inspectors bickering pettishly over shares of the kill and padded his way up to the solitary rock jutting out of a cliff. Morse wasn’t too fond of heights, he knew, but this rock wasn’t too high. And Morse gained some joy from watching the pups play. Strange’s stomach felt heavy, full of fresh meat. He almost felt as if it was dragging along the ground as he walked. 

It didn’t help the heaviness to know that the thin white wolf had been fasting for countless moons.

Morse was lying down on the rock, proud head held high, tail at rest, lithe body occupying nearly the entire face of the rock, made blue by the moonlight. Remains of a kill lay nearby. Morse was licking his chops, eyes on the ground below. As Strange approached, the brown-gray, big-boned, monster of a wolf watched Morse’s ears swivel.

The lithe wolf moved from reclining to standing in a matter of seconds. Even Morse’s human form moved with the natural grace of a dancer. It was like watching water flow over rocks.

Strange chuckled. “Don’t you get tired of living off of squirrels, Morse?”

Morse tilted his head, amused. “They do taste a bit…nutty, Sir.”

Strange tilted his head in acknowledgement. Morse nuzzled briefly under Strange’s chin before withdrawing with a distinctly feline movement and returning to his perch upon the rock.

“I worry about you up here, matey. These days, you seem to sway on an empty stomach.”

Morse shook his head dismissively. “You always used to tell me I shook, Sir. I personally thought you were jealous of me.”

Strange huffed. “No one envies your fasting, matey.” But his stomach felt heavier still, seeing Morse’s ribs stark against his fur in the moonlight. “Eat something decent, will you, please?” He begged, nuzzling Morse’s side with his nose.

Morse chuckled.

“It has to be Lewis, does it?” Strange asked, lifting his head again. “No one else will do?”

“Yes.” Morse replied, blue eyes watching his sergeant fondly. “I want Lewis. I won’t take anyone else.”

“Bell tells me you gave him the turning bite.”

Morse rolled his shoulder blades. “He is mine. Plain and simple.”

“Bullshit.”

Morse chuckled again.

Strange watched the pale white wolf as thin as a rail watching Lewis playing with the other pups below. Morse had a fond look in his eye, one which Strange had never seen before.

“All right, matey,” Strange finally replied. “Lewis is yours.”

The white wolf raised his head and howled.


End file.
